Stupid
by FluffyMackerelPudding
Summary: [UPDATED AND COMPLETE] Summer's got a secret, and she's tired of keeping it. But she's not the only one. femslash SummerMarissa
1. Stupid

A/N: A vague disclaimer is nobody's friend. And obviously a disclaimer won't really help me if FOX decides to sue me for copyright infringement. (Hi, FOX! Please don't sue.) But in any case: None of the characters are my property; they're the creation of Josh Schwartz and the rest of the fine folks working on the show. I'm merely borrowing them.

***

Marissa is incredibly stupid.

Summer feels guilty thinking that about her best friend, but it's an inescapable conclusion. There's no other possible explanation. Marissa. Is. Stupid.

And Summer's tired of subtlety.

Not that Summer's ever been particularly subtle. She buys lunch for Marissa all the time – sure, okay, so friends treat each other to lunch. But friends let themselves be treated, too, and Summer never lets Marissa pay. And Summer's pretty sure that friends don't buy presents for each other, either; at least, not quite so frequently. Not every other week. And certainly not expensive, lacy lingerie.

And Summer knows that friends don't ask to see that lingerie in action, as it were. Okay, so she hasn't asked Marissa to model for her - she does have some self-restraint, after all. When she chooses to exercise it, at least. 

But somehow Marissa has not figured it out. All the clues are there in front of her: the meals, the gifts… The fact that Summer is always really happy to rub suntan lotion on Marissa's back. The fact that Summer is growing increasingly reluctant to stop her fingers from lingering in the curve of Marissa's spine or the dip of her waist.

Summer listens to Marissa talk about boys every day, practically. Hours and hours of bemoaning all Luke's little flaws, alternating with hours and hours of singing Luke's praises. The date they went on, the fight they had, on and on and ON and Summer thinks she really should get a medal for her patience. Lately Ryan's been added to the mix, and Summer's been enthusiastic because at least it adds a little variety.

Yet in all the hours of complaints and admiration, Summer has never once mentioned a boy of her own. Never confessed a crush, never analyzed a conversation word-by-word, never agonized over what to wear on a big date. In fact she hasn't even had a date at all in two years, and Marissa knows that. 

Marissa can't be that clueless, can she?

For fuck's sake, Marissa should be able to figure out that Summer hasn't been stripping down to her best lingerie every day for the past week just because she wants to try on Marissa's clothes!

Marissa is, apparently, exactly that clueless. And Summer is tired of subtlety. So she's going over to Marissa's again. And she'll strip down and try on clothes again, and they'll probably go to the beach and tan even though neither really needs it, and of course Marissa will talk about boys again. She and Summer will go over last night's argument, and the way Ryan looked at her out of the corner of his eye all night. And Marissa will ask who she should choose, Ryan or Luke?

And Summer will tell her _exactly who she should be with._


	2. Smart

A/N: Wow. Marissa turned out a lot more sinister than I thought she'd be when I started writing this. Who knew?

***

Marissa's smarter than she looks.

Truth be told, that's not difficult. Marissa knows she's pretty – not beautiful, certainly, as her features are just a bit too sharp for conventional beauty; but she's got the Girl Next Door market absolutely cornered. She doesn't appear too intelligent, too threatening. All-American, button-nose, big-eyed, Sandra Bullock-esque, endearingly awkward, carefree… these are the adjectives that have been used to describe her for as long as she can remember.

And she can't remember not being pretty. Her earliest memory, in fact, is of winning the Beautiful Baby pageant and starring in a Gerber commercial. After that her mother tried for years to interest her in acting; dragged her to classes and auditions for commercials and movies. And always, always, Marissa was brushed and combed and starched and pressed and immaculately, absolutely, undeniably _pretty_.

A casting director once said she looked 'coltish', with her long skinny limbs. That's exactly how she felt: curried and shining like China on a show day.

She hated every minute.

For a while she tried hard _not to be pretty. She stopped wearing dresses; would, in fact, kick and scream and cry if she wasn't allowed to wear pants, despite the fact that she was really too old to be throwing tantrums. She abandoned Barbie and Ken to the bottom of her toy chest and started running around outside instead, rolling in the dirt and coming home covered in grass stains. And in a last-ditch effort to ruin her looks, she took scissors to her hair and tried to copy the hairstyles of the boys in her class._

Then her mother took her to the salon and she ended up with an adorable pixie cut and she looked even prettier than ever.

So, by the time she was 10, Marissa had resigned herself to a life of prettiness.

It wasn't all that bad, really. Being pretty meant she didn't have to pay as much attention in class. She didn't get in trouble as often, even though she played more practical jokes than most of the boys. She was automatically popular. And of course she was the first girl in her fifth-grade class to get a boyfriend.

A boyfriend who was, it turned out, exactly as dumb as he looked, because six years later he still hadn't figured out that it was all an elaborate cover.

Marissa's starting to reevaluate her earlier rejection of a career in the movies. Turns out she's a pretty good actress after all.

Either that, or everyone around her is incredibly stupid.

Because no one, not Luke, not Ryan, not even Summer – absolutely _no one_ gets it. They don't understand that they're all just a part of the mask, the costume. The boyfriend, the best friend, the tempting bad boy: if Marissa's life were a movie, their roles would come straight from Central Casting.

Hell, Marissa's life practically is a movie. "The California Princess" or something like that. A low-budget rip-off of some Audrey Hepburn classic. With her father gone she's even got the requisite rough patch. And now, like the heroine in any romantic comedy, she'll struggle through adversity and emerge, lip gloss still un-smudged, glittering and wholesome and glowingly in love.

Marissa is fucking tired of being wholesome.

And she's certainly never been in love.

Luke? Luke is a joke. Luke is practically a Neanderthal. Luke seems to think that it's normal for her to lie there, basically unresponsive, while he's kissing her.

Luke is so boring that she sometimes does her physics homework in her head while they're making out.

And Ryan? Well, Ryan's better than Luke, at least. She likes that he's shorter than her; it gives her a feeling of power that she doesn't really feel with Luke. Not that she shows it – she plays the harmless girl with Ryan, too, and he eats it up just like everybody else. He may be new and different, but his reactions are old hat. He does alleviate the boredom most of the time, though she certainly hasn't gone so far as to think about him when she's with Luke.

She has thought about Summer when she's with Luke.

Only once, of course. It was too weird; Luke was too big, too heavy, too muscled, and he smelled all wrong, and it ruined the fantasy. It's much nicer to think about Summer when she locks herself into the bathroom with a waterproof vibrator and plenty of batteries.

Now that she really thinks about it, Summer may not be quite as stupid as the rest of them. Sure, she hasn't figured out Marissa's little secret yet – that's to be expected. But recently, she's been acting like she'd like to rewrite the script a little. Play a different role. Marissa's noticed the lunches, the lingerie, Summer's hands low and warm on her back for just a second too long. And she's certainly noticed the way Summer's breasts press against the lace of her bra when she takes her top off.

And if Marissa's not mistaken, none of that is accidental. Or at all innocent, even though Summer's still playing the ingénue. That's okay; Marissa understands the need to play a role. It's safer to hide behind a harmless façade while you figure out what the other person wants. Better to seem naïve while you tease apart their words and decide exactly how to play them. Marissa's been doing the same thing, because it's _her_ movie. Obviously any script rewrites are going to need her final approval.

But maybe today Marissa will finally peel back her pristine mask and let the dirt underneath show through. And she'll peel back Summer's along with it. Summer has been looking a little too wholesome these days.

Marissa doesn't look like she's good at corruption. But she is.


	3. Bubblegum

Summer's got it all planned out.

It goes like this: She's trying on clothes at Marissa's. They're talking (well, Marissa's talking and she's listening) about boys. Marissa is distraught, crying. She's pretty when she cries: her lip trembles and one tear works its way gently down her cheek, her eyes are big and moist. She hugs Summer, clings to her: "Why?" Why are they both so mean, why is it so hard, why do I have to choose? Why am I not happy? Doesn't matter what she's really asking, or if she's really asking anything at all. Summer rubs Marissa's back, lifts her chin. Tells her she loves her. Marissa's confused, so Summer shows her what she means. Slow fade to candlelit skin and soft violins.

Summer knows it's cheesy. But what else is she gonna do – bust in there, rip off Marissa's clothes, and throw her on the bed? She may be tired of subtlety, but she still knows the meaning of the word. Knows when it's necessary.

Knows that you've gotta use a soft touch with some people, because you'll scare them away if you get too rough.

When she goes over there, she stands on the step for a few minutes before ringing the bell. Going through the plan again until her fingertips are itchy. It's time. Breathe. Relax. It's time.

Marissa comes to the door and for a second Summer sees something strange in her eyes. There's an intentness there, a ferocity completely at odds with everything she knows about Marissa. Then Marissa tucks her hair behind her ears and it's gone, she's just Marissa again.

Summer must have imagined it, obviously. This is Marissa. This is _Coop_. Good old Coop, the sweet one. The innocent one. The one who won't let her boyfriend of six years go down on her because she thinks it's too dirty. (Summer couldn't believe it when they had that discussion. She thinks maybe Luke did try, once, and got it so horribly wrong that it scarred the poor girl for life. But Summer'll show her how it's done.) For fuck's sake, Marissa's so sweet and wholesome she probably bleeds bubblegum.

She probably tastes like it, too, Summer thinks. Bubblegum and lip gloss until you get down to the real girl underneath. The way she imagined Britney would taste, when she was still crushing on her, before she realized Marissa was the same thing and a whole lot more accessible.

She's been wanting to taste that for so long she can hardly stand it, and when they get up to Marissa's room it's all she can do not to pull her down to the floor right there, practically still out in the hall. But she can't scare the girl, gotta take it slow, remember? So she takes her top off instead. She's wearing new lingerie, an insubstantial little number from Vicky's with a matching thong, and even if she doesn't get anywhere with Marissa (doubtful, because Summer knows she's irresistible), she's certainly not going to let it go to waste.

She's just dropped her shirt on the floor when Marissa's _there, way into Summer's personal space, and what the fuck is this? Summer backs up a step and Marissa follows, crowding her against the wall._

"You take your top off an awful lot around me." Marissa's voice is lower and dirtier than Summer can remember it ever being, and she's slipping one nail down the strap of Summer's bra. "This is nice. New?"

Something is very wrong here, things are not going according to the plan _at all_ and that look is back in Marissa's eyes, and if Summer didn't know better she'd say Coop was looking positively predatory right now, but that's not possible, it can't be possible. If she could just catch her breath, if she could just have some time to regroup. "Coop?" Her voice comes out much softer than she'd like.

"Summer." Marissa's actually _smirking right now. "What exactly are you playing at here?" Her hand is on Summer's chest, right below her collarbones, pressing her into the wall just a little too hard for comfort. But Summer's not focusing on that because Marissa's mouth is hovering maybe two inches from her ear now and everything she says in that rough new pack-a-day voice is sending little shivers down Summer's spine, and all she can think to do is repeat the question._

"What am I…?"

"You're really not as innocent as you pretend, Summer," grated into her ear, and shit. Shit. Marissa knows. But it's okay, she hasn't done or said anything really incriminating, has she? She could just deny, pretend she doesn't know what Marissa's talking about, no problem, the situation can still be saved, just gotta stay cool. Her fear must be showing in her face because suddenly Old Marissa is back, smiling up from under her lashes, stepping back a little and saying, "That's okay. Don't worry. Neither am I."

Summer calms down a little even though the words don't exactly go with the innocent face. She closes her eyes for just a second, relieved, but when she opens them the predator is behind Marissa's eyes again. And she's taking off her shirt.

Wow.

And she's not wearing a bra.

Summer can feel all her higher brain functions powering down but there's still that nagging thought that something's wrong here, maybe Marissa's been abducted by aliens or something because this isn't right, it shouldn't be happening or at least not this way, and what happened to the fucking plan? So she pushes Marissa away, just getting a little distance between them. A few inches of air so she can take a deep breath and ask her what's going on, why is she acting so weird.

She doesn't push her away immediately. Summer waits until Marissa's kissing her, and that makes it harder because yeah she feels amazing, and strangely enough yeah she does taste like bubblegum and lip gloss.

So she lets herself be thoroughly kissed before pressing Marissa's shoulders back and separating them. But hey. Summer can be forgiven for a moment of weakness, right? She's only human, after all.


	4. Decision

Marissa cannot fucking be-_lieve_ that Summer just pushed her away.

That's how the thought appears in her mind, written across the back of her eyelids with the italics and everything. Like some trashy strip club sign gone wrong, flashing, "Cannot. Fucking. Be-_lieve_," instead of "XXX Live Nude Girls XXX," which is what Marissa would very much prefer right now.

She pushes away a brief fantasy of Summer gyrating on a stage, and concentrates on the situation at hand.

No one's ever pushed Marissa away. Ever. For a second she panics, thinks maybe she misjudged Summer all along; maybe she really does just like to try on Marissa's clothes. Maybe she's not interested at all. Marissa knows how to read people and she's never been wrong about someone before, but there's a first time for everything, right?

Then she realizes, No, Summer's definitely interested. She's still leaning up against the wall, lips parted, eyes closed, looking utterly debauched and sexier than hell; if a little freaked out. Plus, you don't put your tongue in your best friend's mouth and nibble on her lower lip if you're not interested. Even if you do push her away afterwards.

But here's the problem: despite all Marissa's fantasies about Summer – and there are many, catalogued in her mind according to what Summer's wearing – she's utterly lacking in actual _experience_. And while she can get a hell of a long way on sheer enthusiasm and secretly-downloaded porn, the fantasies and the skin flicks don't give her any idea of what to do now. She figured Summer would go for the aggressive routine, so she planned ahead, memorized a few lines – but now Summer's thrown the entire plan off. It all hinged on Summer giving in immediately to Marissa's advances, thereby rendering any sort of conversation completely impossible. The script in her mind does not cover the possibility of Summer getting scared; what the hell is she going to say now?

Summer's got that look she gets at the mall, when she's trying to decide between a Chanel bag and Prada shoes and ends up buying both. Which, Marissa decides, probably means she's trying to decide whether to kiss her again, or slap her. Marissa hope she doesn't choose both; one thing she's learned while looking for porn is that she is most definitely not into BDSM. Though Summer _would_ look hot in leather.

Yeah, a black leather corset, lots of eyeliner and blood red lipstick… that pleasant thought is cut off by the even more pleasant sensation of Summer's lips pressing against hers.

Apparently she's made a decision.


	5. Again

Okay. So it didn't go quite as planned. Marissa jumped the gun and Summer got freaked out for a few seconds. But Summer's smart, she's adaptable, and she knows when to keep her mouth shut and just go with it.

She's not keeping her mouth shut at the moment, because Marissa's tongue is in it.

And it's exactly the way she'd imagined it. Marissa's fragile against her, thin arms and sharp ribs and Summer doesn't even care because Marissa's sliding a knee up between her thighs, a hand between her shoulder blades and her bra's dropping to the floor. She's not thinking about moving her hips but she must be, because she's rocking and Marissa's hip bone is grinding just above her clit, and she pulls Marissa toward the bed because staying upright is just too hard right now.

She expected everything to be so graceful, but she underestimated the difficulty of removing her jeans (why, _why_ did she wear jeans instead of a skirt?) with Marissa writhing on top of her. She loses the rhythm, and then discovers that Marissa's leg is tangled up with the jeans, and she's half-falling off the bed, and it's all so far from the violins-and-candles plan that she just starts laughing.

Marissa's laughing, too, pulling Summer's jeans off and dropping her own skirt to the floor and _Oh._ The bra wasn't the only piece of clothing she left off. Summer wonders idly if that's was a one-time thing.

"No," says Marissa when Summer reaches for her own thong. She slides her lips up Summer's calf, nips the crease of her knee, licks up the inside of her thigh, and when Marissa tugs on the strap of her thong with her teeth Summer forgets how to breathe.

She whispers, "Please," under her breath when Marissa licks her, just one long slow lick and Marissa chuckles and licks again, and slips a finger inside and presses up, and Summer never imagined she was so _easy_ but she's already coming.

She opens her eyes again (funny, she doesn't remember closing them) to see Marissa leaning over her, a smug grin on her face. Turnabout is fair play, Summer thinks, and rolls Marissa beneath her, one hand already sliding down between her legs.

Summer knows what it feels like, of course; she's touched herself plenty of times, but touching someone else is different. She's amazed at how soft Marissa is, how easily her fingers slip in.

She's a little afraid to go down on Marissa, but she's dumped guys over similar hesitation and she's not about to be hypocritical. So she bends her head down before she can get any more nervous, closes her yes, and just goes for it.

It's… well, it's not the _most_ pleasant thing she's done, but Marissa's got good personal hygiene, and the way she's bucking her hips up into Summer's mouth definitely makes it worthwhile. And she's making these breathy little moans and half-formed words, and Summer's getting wet again just listening.

She swirls her tongue experimentally, and Marissa yelps and practically crushes Summer's head between shaking thighs.

Okay then. She'll definitely do that again.

Marissa's heels are pressing against the small of Summer's back, and when she comes she jerks and kicks so hard that Summer thinks for a moment that her back might be broken. That'd be fun to explain. But then Marissa's legs fall away from around her neck, and she can sit up.

She works the cramp out of her neck to the sound of Marissa's breath gradually slowing.

Marissa's still spread out across the bed. The afternoon light hits the curve of her neck, painting her skin white and gold; Summer thinks she's never looked better. Like a china doll.

Marissa turns her head, untangles her fingers from the covers, pushes her arms above her head and stretches. Her voice is still a little trembly, but her hands are steady as she reaches up to Summer: "Again."

Summer smiles and lets herself be pulled into the kiss. She thinks maybe Marissa's smarter than she gave her credit for.

_fin_


End file.
